Crunchy Thoughts

My new Game Day Panties are awesome!

War Damn Panties!

(AP Photo/Chris O’Meara)

I know I haven’t written much about Auburn football lately. If I had done so you would have been reading tear-stained posts. Some of the press and fan-talk has been pretty vicious, especially towards Tuberville. Amazing how quickly some people have forgotten what it was like in 1998, i.e. my freshman year.

We got a chance to go to yesterday’s game versus New Mexico State with Cathy and Jason and we had a fantastic time. Also, thankfully, Auburn won.

We had wonderful seats, too. Right on the 50 yard line, not too far up — it was nuts. We could smell the Gatorade and everything.

I was so close I could see Quentin Groves heave over and barf on the sidelines in the second half.

When you go to the beach, you’re bound to see some scantily-clad flesh. For some people, what would be the point of a beachy retreat if you weren’t going to see some booty?

Once when I was a kid a lady walked down the beach in an absolute thong. We are talking dental floss up the crack here. Our family still talks about that event.

So when we came back out to our staked-out piece of sand after lunch on Friday, we didn’t think much of the three girls who had decided to sun their already perfectly bronzed bodies not five feet from our stuff. As my sister and I sat there in our umbrella shade, though, our eyes kept sneaking glances their way, and our tongues started wagging in catty whispers.

Their evenly toned skin, the curve of their hip bones, their flat stomachs . . . these were Hot Girls™, and they were way too close to our stuff. How rude. How brazen. How tactless!

The more we watched, the more comical we found them. They would flip to tan their other sides at the same time like bacon on a griddle. Hot Bacon. We surmised that they must be sorority girls from Alabama, due to the way they butchered “Sweet Home Alabama” when it played on their beach radio.

That evening we were determined we would get out to the beach early the next day and stake out our place so the Hot Girls™ wouldn’t get so close to us. We didn’t need to see that silliness. “No Hot Girls™!” was the chant that evening in our condo.

That next morning Steven and I claimed our spot with chairs and a rather large umbrella and settled down for the day, Hot Girl™-free. About 30 minutes later I hear some giggle-gaggle commotion behind me, turn around, and . . .

Oh. My. God. They MULTIPLIED.

About ten Hot Girls™ converge on a spot a short distance from us. Well, it’s all I can do to stifle my giggles. The scene is just hilarious in its absurdity. They begin to oil each other up. I watch as one of them rubs tanning oil all around another one’s crotch. It is an adolescent boy’s dream come true. They all undo that top tie on their bikinis, tuck it down, and lay on their backs with their legs propped up in the exact same pose. Synchronized Hot Girl™ tanning: Barely Legal.

Later on, two more straggler Hot Girls™ join the gaggle to create a full dozen Girls that would, as a group, flip sides, pop up their heads to check out a guy, go for a quick squealing dip in the water, and surreptitiously try to show more skin than the others by pulling down their tops and bottoms as far as they could go without exposing the absolute goods.

The Hot Girls™ made their last appearance Sunday morning and by the afternoon they had scattered, presumably for the drive back to Tuscaloosa before Monday classes. Finally, we were Hot Girl™-free, even if only for an afternoon.

I do hope they are pleased with their almost lineless tans. They certainly gave our family something to talk about for the next few years.

Okay, watching football at the beach is bad luck.

Now we know.

Just to let y’all know, we’ve gone on vacation until next Monday. And, well . . . whenever I go on vacation, people tend to die. Last time I killed Mr. Wizard, remember?

So get your gun and bring in the cat. Just until we get back.

Hey . . . hey!!!

IT’S GAMEDAY!!!

FOO’BALL!

Ohboyohboyohboyohboy!